She lifted a trembling finger and pointed to a medium-sized painting on the far wall.
“Is that—? It can’t be. Is it?” she stuttered.
“Michelangelo, yes. Adam and Eve before the Fall.” A gray-haired woman, wearing a smart navy sheath dress and jacket, strode across the floor.
“But Michelangelo is thought to have completed only one painting and it’s in the Uffizi. An uncompleted work that may be his is in the National Gallery in London.”
The woman ignored Raven’s protest. “I’m Lucia.”
“Raven,” she murmured, crossing the floor so she could get a better look at the alleged Michelangelo.
“I thought your name was Jane. Jane Wood.” Lucia followed her with a frown.
Raven kept her eyes fixed on the painting. She looked at it from the side, trying to discern the brushstrokes.
“The intruder calls me Jane, but my name is Raven.”
The couple seemed taken aback by her remarks but commented no further.
Ambrogio apprised Lucia of Raven’s injury. He bowed, declaring he would find out about Bruno’s condition and attempt to locate her knapsack, before disappearing into the dining room.
Lucia gestured to the staircase. “Your room is upstairs.”
“This painting,” Raven managed to say, fixated as she was, “where did it come from?”
“It’s part of Lord William’s extensive collection. But the best pieces are in there.”
The woman nodded toward a closed set of double doors to the left of the staircase.
Raven reluctantly tore her gaze away from the painting and stared at the closed doors.
She shook her head, as if to clear her mind.
“You said Lord William?” she whispered. “William York?”
“Of course.” Once again, Lucia seemed puzzled.
“The intruder is William York?”
“I don’t know anything about an intruder. The gentleman who owns this estate is Lord William York. He brought you here.” Lucia took a step closer, examining Raven intently. “I will send for a doctor.”
“No, I’m fine. I was just a little—motion sick.” She wiped her mouth self-consciously. “Can you tell me if Lord William recently acquired something in the style of Botticelli? Such as a set of illustrations?”
“You were bleeding.” Lucia ignored Raven’s question, pointing at the dried blood on her shoulder and dress.
“No, it’s Bruno’s. My friend.” Raven fought back tears. “I’m worried he’s dead. I need to see him.”
“Ambrogio will attend to it.”
Raven stared at Lucia suspiciously, wondering why she was repeating the intruder’s rote remark.
“I really need to go. If you could just call a taxi for me, I’ll leave.”
“It’s past one o’clock. His lordship would like you to clean up and rest.” Lucia’s expression brooked no argument.
Raven began moving toward the front door, which was a few feet away. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve been very kind.”
“Stop.” Lucia’s polished demeanor dropped for a moment and an icy coldness filled her eyes. “His lordship’s orders are always obeyed.”
“I just want to go home,” Raven whispered.
As if on cue, Ambrogio returned. He stood in front of the door, effectively blocking Raven’s escape.
Her eyes moved from him to Lucia.
“You must obey his lordship.” Lucia gestured in the direction of the staircase. “He has been expecting your return.”
“My return? I’ve never been here before.”
“This way, please.” Once again Lucia ignored her comment. She walked toward the staircase.
Raven lifted her right foot surreptitiously, trying to figure out if she could outrun Lucia and Ambrogio and make it to the back door. Of course, it was more than likely that the intruder was outside and would come after her.
She didn’t want to think about what he’d do to her if he caught her.
She forced an artificial smile and joined Lucia on the stairs. “A shower and a rest sound like a good idea. Thank you.”
Lucia’s frosty attitude thawed marginally as she ushered Raven up-stairs. She brought Raven down a long central hall, pausing in front of a tall wooden door. “In here, please.”
She opened the door.
In keeping with the rest of the house, the large bedroom boasted dark hardwood floors that were covered by elaborately woven antique carpets. A massive four-poster bed hung with wine-colored velvet curtains stood at the center of the wall to the left.
The walls were painted to match the curtains and all the other furniture in the room was dark, polished wood, with the exception of a large divan near what looked like the entrance to the bathroom en suite. The divan was covered in wine velvet and held a single gold damask cushion.
When Raven crossed the threshold, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck. Something about the room seemed familiar.
Ignoring Lucia, she walked to the bed, noting that a white Turkish cotton bathrobe had been placed at its foot, along with a pair of slippers. A blue silk slip-style nightgown rested on top of the duvet, which was covered in gold damask.
“If you sit down, I’ll examine your shoulder.” Lucia gestured to the divan and Raven lowered herself to its edge.
That was when she saw the painting.
On the wall opposite the door, and therefore hidden from initial view by the bed curtains, hung a large oil painting behind glass.
Raven turned to her right, craning her neck so she could see it.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Without a word, she pushed past Lucia to get a better look at the painting.
The composition was similar, almost identical, to Botticelli’s Primavera but on a smaller scale. There were three notable differences: the figure of Flora was absent in this version, and Mercury and Zephyr featured radically different appearances than their Uffizi counterparts.
This Mercury had gray eyes and a wreath of short blond hair.
In gazing at his face, Raven immediately thought of the drawing she’d done a few days earlier. The drawing that had mysteriously disappeared after the intruder’s first visit.
Then there was the figure of Zephyr, on the right-hand side of the painting.
Zephyr was clothed in blue garments, but his face and body were decidedly flesh colored, if not a bit paler than the other figures. He, too, had blond hair.
Raven glanced from Zephyr to Mercury and back again. The two figures were almost identical, except that Zephyr had paler skin and a more muscular body. There was also a refinement in his facial features that made him more beautiful than Mercury.
Whoever painted this picture had used the same model for Mercury and Zephyr. And his face was not unknown to her.
Adding to her confusion was the fact that this Mercury, with his short blond hair, largely resembled the ghost she’d found in the radiograph of Primavera. It was almost as if Botticelli had seen this painting, copied Mercury’s appearance, then painted over it, changing his hair from blond to brown.
Raven felt light-headed.
“You should sit down.” Lucia pulled her back to the divan and proceeded to prod her right arm and shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” Raven murmured, her eyes glued to the painting.
“The shoulder isn’t dislocated. Would you like an ice pack?”
Raven peered up at Lucia, who was staring at her with a distrustful look.
Raven shook her head. She tried to remain calm, but her mind was racing.
How could William York have a reproduction of Primavera that I’ve never heard of? And how could it be a reproduction if Botticelli’s original Mercury matches this one?
“I could run a hot bath or you could shower. Perhaps you should wait until you have something in your stomach. I’ll bring some tea and toast.”
Raven’s attention was drawn back to Lucia.
“I should get out of these clothes
. The smell . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I’ll be back shortly.” Lucia pointed to a long, thin piece of tapestry that hung from the ceiling at the right side of the bed. “If you need me, pull the cord.”
Raven nodded, her eyes moving to the painting again.
As Lucia approached the door, Raven spoke.
“You prepared this room for me?”
“His lordship wanted you to stay here, in his room.” Lucia disappeared through the door.
Chapter Twenty-two
Although Raven would have liked the opportunity to examine the faux Primavera and the alleged Michelangelo in a leisurely fashion, she was not about to put her passion for art above her safety.
Neither was she going to spend the night in his lordship’s room.
She was clever enough to realize she needed to wait until the appropriate time to make her escape. The intruder’s staff was disturbingly loyal.
After her short confrontation with Lucia and Ambrogio downstairs, Raven decided her best strategy was temporary compliance. Her knapsack had been returned without her cell phone and without the relic. She elected not to press the issue, intending as she was to slip out of the house after everyone was asleep.
She was relieved to learn that Bruno was still alive. She was told he was in an induced coma at the hospital while the doctors waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. It was too early to tell if he would survive.
At this news, Raven cried. She shed her tears in the shower, where no one could hear.
Lucia had stationed herself in the bedroom while Raven used the bathroom, as if she were standing guard.
Raven scrubbed her hair and body with a finely milled Florentine soap that smelled of lemon. She’d found the soap in a decorative box on top of the vanity and recognized the scent as being that of the intruder. Since it was the only soap on offer, she couldn’t be bothered to care that it was his.
After drying her hair and changing into the silk nightgown and plush bathrobe, she dutifully drank mint leaves steeped in hot water and choked down dry toast and a couple of aspirin.
She feigned exhaustion and declared to Lucia she was going to bed. Thankfully, the housekeeper departed, bidding her good night.
Raven was sure to lock the bedroom door from the inside.
At four o’clock in the morning, she padded over to the closet. Divesting herself of the nightgown, she pulled on a green wrap dress that was exactly her size. She bent to reach for a pair of black ballet flats and stopped cold.
Sitting on the closet floor, next to several pairs of shoes and boots that looked to be of her size, were her own sneakers. She picked one up, inspecting it. They were the black Adidas sneakers she wore almost every day and had been unable to find since Gina’s party.
Why would the intruder steal my sneakers?
Raven lifted the other shoe, turning it over in her hand. A couple of rust-colored spots decorated the toe.
A sick feeling came over her as she wondered whose blood was on her shoes.
She shoved the sneakers in her knapsack and slid on the ballet flats. She’d worry about the blood spatter later.
She pulled her knapsack onto her uninjured shoulder and crept down the dark hallway to the stairs.
Her plan was to escape the estate as quickly and quietly as possible. She’d walk down the hill to the Arno, even if it took hours. Then she’d go to one of the hotels, borrow a phone, and call the police.
There wasn’t a telephone in her room. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in the house.
No doubt Ispettor Batelli would be glad she’d located William York and that she’d seen his vast and secret art collection.
No, she hadn’t seen the illustrations, but, given his other treasures, it was possible he had them. It was also possible other works in his collection were stolen. Surely this was enough information to place the police’s suspicion where it belonged—on the shoulders of Lord William York.
She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound. The foyer, like the hallway above, was bathed in darkness, although lights at the front of the villa shone in through the glass of the front door.
As she reached the first floor, she noticed that the doors that led to the more extensive part of William’s collection were open.
Curiosity tempted her. If she could see the stolen Botticelli illustrations with her own eyes, it would make her testimony much more valuable.
She padded lightly to the entrance.
The room was pitch-black.
She placed a hand on the door frame and leaned inside, willing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.
“Psyche awakes.” A low voice spoke to her from inside the room.
She startled, jumping back.
“I’m surprised it took you this long to try to make your escape.” The intruder continued speaking Italian.
Raven turned, intending to run.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
She paused. For the moment, at least, her arm and leg were only aching. But she knew she couldn’t evade him on foot.
The realization discouraged her.
“I’m already furious with you,” the voice announced. “Don’t anger me further. Come inside. Now.”
“Why should you be furious? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.” Raven clutched her knapsack more tightly.
“You’re the one who’s been rescued. You’d have been charged with attempted murder and be rotting in a jail cell by now if I hadn’t dragged you from the scene of the crime. I should add that the police station is only a short ride away, if you’d prefer their company.”
Raven huffed. She didn’t want to deal with the police. It seemed an audience with the intruder was her only option at the moment.
She lifted her chin and walked through the doorway.
The room gave the impression of being large, but she couldn’t see for sure. Like the foyer, it was bathed in darkness.
The intruder had the advantage of being able to see in the dark.
She took another hesitant step forward and stopped. “So you’re William York?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What manner is that?”
“It’s a name I use, in certain circles. But York is where I’m from, not my surname.”
“Then what’s your name?”
“Do you really wish to waste time on such inconsequential questions?” He sounded impatient.
“The questions aren’t inconsequential to me.” She lifted her knapsack higher on her shoulder. “I want to go home, please. Will you call a taxi?”
He laughed and it was not a happy sound.
“Do you think I went to all this trouble only to send you home in a taxi? Hardly.”
Raven felt her heartbeat quicken. “The policemen investigating the Uffizi robbery are already looking for you. If you let me go, kidnapping won’t be added to the charges.”
“Kidnapping is the least of my worries. And the least of yours.”
Raven tensed. “You brought me here. You must have been planning to reveal yourself. Why won’t you show me your face?”
“Oh, Psyche.
“‘Fortune doth menace unto thee imminent danger,
wherof I wish thee greatly to beware. . . . thou shalt
purchase to mee great sorrow, and to thyself utter
destruction. . . . Beware that ye covet not . . . to see the
shape of my person, lest by your curiosity you deprive
your selfe of so great and worthy estate.’”
“You’re quoting Apuleius?” She sounded incredulous.
“It seemed appropriate. Psyche wasn’t satisfied with what she had and she wouldn’t do what she was told.”
Raven straightened her spine. “I’m not a dog to be told to sit or stay.”
“Obviously,” he said dryly.
“Besides, Psyche loved Cupid. She wanted to know the person she loved.”
The intruder seemed to
move closer. “She was a human who fell in love with a god.”
“Are you saying you’re a god?”
“Are you saying you’re in love with me?” His tone was mocking. “I suppose you love that boy who’s lying in the hospital.”
Raven flinched.
“I know better than to fall in love with a man who’s attracted only to beautiful women.”
“If he’s attracted to beautiful women, ergo he must be attracted to you.”
She scowled. “That isn’t funny.”
“You’ll discover in short order I am never humorous. Did he say you weren’t beautiful?”
She squirmed. “Not in so many words. I’ve known him awhile and he only paid attention to me when my appearance changed.”
“If he’s foolish enough to think beauty is in the skin and not the heart, then I hope he dies quickly and rids the world of his stupidity.”
“How dare you! He’s my friend!” Raven took a blind step forward.
“Clearly you should rethink your choices in friends.”
The sound of a match striking caught Raven’s attention.
She turned to see a single candlestick illuminated. It was standing on a table in the center of the room, next to a large, burgundy chair.
Behind the table stood a man.
Raven stared.
When she regained her composure, she blinked a few times, her eyes struggling to become accustomed to the dim light.
The man was younger than she’d expected. She was nearing thirty and he looked to be a few years her junior. He had blond hair and gray eyes. His face was attractive, even beautiful, with full lips and a straight nose.
It was difficult to tell more about his appearance, since he was clad all in black and the room was still dark, but in size he appeared to be of medium height and build.
Raven already knew his clothes hid muscles that were deceptively stronger than their size led one to believe.
Her eyes fixed on his face.
A strange dryness filled her mouth and she struggled to swallow.
He was the mysterious man she’d sketched earlier that week. She surmised he’d stolen her sketch for that very reason.